


Happy 39th Birthday, Tom

by hopeless_romantic_spoonie



Series: Tom Hiddleston Drabbles and Ficlets [9]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: Comfort No Hurt, Established Relationship, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22627777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_romantic_spoonie/pseuds/hopeless_romantic_spoonie
Summary: What's Tom's reaction to you flying to Georgia to surprise him for his birthday? Read this to find out!
Relationships: Tom Hiddleston/Reader, Tom Hiddleston/You
Series: Tom Hiddleston Drabbles and Ficlets [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1517372
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	Happy 39th Birthday, Tom

**Author's Note:**

> This was written at 1:30 in the morning and then edited as soon as it was finished. So, all errors are 100% my own.

Room service? _Steaming_. Soft instrumental music? _Playing._ Two slices of decadent chocolate cake with candle and lighter ready? _And waiting._ Birthday boy?

_Late._

It had taken a village to get you to his hotel room in Georgia without alerting the observant man. Thankfully, those who helped were used to keeping tight lips concerning anything you and Tom, so the extension of secrecy wasn’t too far out of reach. It had been hard, texting him earlier, telling harmless lies about your day to make him believe you were at your shared home in London. It would all be worth it for the surprise.

But the stress of setting everything up and jet lag left you dozing off with your forehead resting on your arms crossed over the flat room-service cloche.

Your right hip vibrated. Again. And again. And again.

Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you sat up, groaning against the tight muscles of your back that protested sleeping slumped over the table. Fumbling fingers pulled the phone from your pocket, and a voicemail from Tom lit up the screen. You set it to play on speakerphone while you checked the food that had provided a most uncomfortable temporary pillow.

_”I know you don’t rest well when I’m gone, and that it is about three in the morning there, so I’m hoping that you’re asleep. Despite what the selfish man longing for his beloved desires, you do need rest. I wanted to call you much earlier, but the team had cake and a bit of a party for me after shooting. When shooting ran long, well… I’m calling you now. I am going to tumble into bed when I get back to the room in a bit. I miss you and I love you, darling. Call me when you get this?”_

The fatigued hope that slowed his rich British drawl pained your ears as you poked at the dreadfully cold dinner. He worked so hard. It was the reason that you had come to visit in the first place. Well, you missed him, too. So very much that your heart ached with the thought even though he was minutes away. He needed to be reminded to take a break, take a breath, and just enjoy life. If only for a few moments.

The door opened, and your head peeked around the corner to see a man dressed in jeans and a tight black polo walk in with his hand over his hip. He locked eyes with you, his gaze hardened steel that turned your blood to ice in your veins and your hands lifted to the air beside your head. And then he spoke your name in a tight question.

“Yes, that’s me.”

He nodded and relaxed, stepping back into the doorway. That was your cue to duck back out of sight. “All clear, Tom. You must’ve left the light on and forgotten about it. Have a good evening, and happy birthday.”

“I swear that I didn’t,” Tom muttered. The rasp of skin on skin would be his hand rubbing in confusion over the back of his neck, if you had to guess. And the quiet _click_ would be the door closing.

You stepped out from your hiding spot, hoping that you didn’t look too mussed from your inopportune nap, and smiled. “You didn’t.”

The poor man nearly jumped out of his skin. He stepped back against the door, hand on the handle, staring for a few moments at you with confusion written into the furrow of his brow and dropped jaw. Slowly, his shoulders slumped. And then the bag at his side fell to his feet.

His long legs made short work of the painful distance between you and he swept you up into his crushing embrace. Tucked flush against his chest with your face pressed into his neck from him bent down to curl around you, it was easy to feel the tension fade from his muscles. You smoothed your hands down his back. “Happy birthday. I’m sorry the food got cold.”

“Damn the food,” he muttered, his seeking fingers edging beneath the hem of your shirt to splay his hands across the soft skin of your back. “You’re _here_.”

“Happy birthday,” you repeated. The words were the simplest explanation you could give for your presence. Longer tales of your journey and the espionage involved could wait.

His nose nudged along the soft skin of your ear. He breathed you in, swaying your bodies gently on the spot with a contented hum that shook the misery from your heart that had lingered for so long. “The happiest.”


End file.
